New Trials
by book-zealot
Summary: Dying in the forest had more effects than they thought, and being a twin can be complicated. This leads Harry and the Twins to start over in a new world. HPGWFW Slash
1. Prologue

New Trials

Summary: Dying in the forest had more effects than they thought, and being a twin can be complicated. This leads Harry and the Twins to start over in a new world. HPFWGW slash

I am not J.K. Rowling, and don't own anything except my own ideas.

Prologue:

Voldemort was dead. Voldemort was dead and people were celebrating. Harry sat to the side of the Great Hall and watched as people who had been fighting for their lives and hour before relaxed and celebrated surviving. Well, some celebrated. Others were morning. He frowned. Voldemort was dead, but so were so many other people.

His breath hitched for a moment, and he felt tears begin to sting his eyes. The bodies of the dead were lying across the hall from him. Over to the left was Colin, who shouldn't have even been there. He was supposed to evacuate with the younger students. Who was going to tell Dennis? Next to Colin were Remus and Tonks, next to each with hands clasped.

Wasn't Tonks supposed to stay out of the fight and take care of Teddy? Harry's sadness turned to anger. Why had she been so selfish? Why hadn't she stayed behind? Why did she insist on fighting? Now Teddy was an orphan. Harry supposed as his godfather it would be his responsibility to raise him.

At this thought Harry's chest tightened and twisted. _Wrong. It wouldn't be right._

Harry frowned again and rubbed his chest. Wrong? Wouldn't it be right to raise Teddy? Wasn't it his responsibility now?

_Wrong. This is wrong. _

That gave Harry pause. It was Harry's inner voice. The one that helped him fight off the Imperius curse. The one that niggled at him when he got clues to a problem that was close to being solved. In first year it helped Harry put together the mystery of the stone. In second it helped him put together the basilisk, the spiders and Moaning Myrtle, leading him to the Chamber of Secrets. It helped him realize where Voldemort's horcruxes were. Year after year it had helped him, saving his life on several occasions. It was a voice that Harry had learned to trust. It was his instincts and magic, trying to keep him alive. And now it was telling him that taking care of Teddy would be wrong.

Why? Was it because Remus and Tonks were supposed to raise him? Was it because he was too young to be a father? Was it because he didn't know anything about children, and would do a poor job?

There was no response from his inner voice. None of those reasons felt right, but Harry wasn't sure they were wrong either.

A cheer from some celebrating sixth years made Harry look up. He would put aside the question for now. There were other things that needed his attention.

"Harry?" Hermione asked from beside him. "Are you ok?" He turned to look at her. She was leaning against the wall beside him, looking concerned.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile. "I'm fine Hermione. "

She looked even more concerned at that. "Are you sure? You've been rubbing your chest for a few minutes. You aren't hurt are you?" Harry looked down in surprise. He had been rubbing his chest, but hadn't noticed. Her concerned look suddenly turned suspicious, and he could practically see the cogs turning in her head. "Did something happen? Oh my goodness, you were hurt in the forest weren't you? That's why V-v-Voldemort thought you were dead isn't it? What happened? What did he do? Did-"

"Hermione!" Harry interrupted, holding up his hand to fend off her rapid questioning. "It's fine! Yes, something happened. I don't really want to talk about it right now." He wasn't sure how he felt about what happened in the forest.

He died. Harry had died, and then come back afterwards to finish Voldemort off. He had been able to do it because he was the Master of Death. What did that even mean? The whole idea made him feel odd. He had felt very aware of the hallows since he came back. His cloak was rolled up in his pocket, feeling like an old friend; safe and familiar and like secrets. He could feel the elder wand too. It was a presence at the back of his mind. Not friendly like the cloak, but poised like a weapon at the beginning of battle. It was waiting in anticipation. The most peculiar in his opinion was the resurrection stone. He had thrown it away in the forest, not seeing the need for it since he was going to die, but he felt that one too. If he walked out to the forest he was sure he would be able to walk straight to it, even though he didn't know where he had thrown it to begin with. It felt like grief. Grief with an echo of unsubstantial blackness.

He shuddered, and looked around for something to distract Hermione with. She tended to get hooked on a topic if he couldn't distract her, and this wasn't something he felt up to talking about right now.

"Where's Ron?" Harry asked, hoping she wouldn't insist on questioning him any more right now.

It worked and her suspicion turned to sorrow. Turning and gesturing to the far right of the hall she said, "Over there. With the rest of his family. With the twins."

Harry froze. _Fred._ How had he forgotten about Fred? He didn't want to look, but felt his eyes drawn to the huddle of redheads near the right of the hall. Fred's body lay there, with the rest of the Weasleys gathered around him. For a terrible moment Harry felt his world stop. George was lying unmoving, half on and half off of Fred, with a blank look on his face. Was he? No. George turned slightly, still with that blank face, but Harry could see that he was still breathing. And behind his left shoulder, standing with his hand on George's shoulder was-

No. It was impossible. Harry was seeing things.

Fred was dead. His body was right there.

"I have to go." Harry said, pushing off the wall. He could feel his breath quickening, panic rising in his chest. He couldn't handle this. He couldn't-

"Right," she said, taking his hand. "We should join them." He stared at her in horror. Join them? He couldn't. He _couldn't._ Everything that had been building up for the last day was starting to hit him. He felt choked up, like he couldn't get his breath. _Fred was dead_ and he had died and Dumbledore had _planned_ for him to die and Snape was his mother's childhood friend and he was the Master of Death and Voldemort was dead and Remus and Tonks were dead and _Fred was dead-_ No. No he couldn't deal with this right now. It was too much.

"No." He pulled his hand away from hers. "No. I need to go right now." He turned and started walking towards the entry hall.

"Harry!" She said surprised. "Where are you going?" He didn't answer, but sped up his steps, dodging around the people in his path.

He hit the hall and broke in to a run, dashing up the stairs and down corridors. Tears began spilling down his face. He ran, not knowing where he was going or seeing anything around him until he tripped on loose stone and fell to the ground. Curling up he began to sob in earnest.

He wasn't sure what was worse: all the deaths, or finally finding out the truth. The truth was he had been a horcrux and Dumbledore had known. As he lay there he wondered just how much Dumbledore had known. He always seemed to wise and all knowing. How long had he known Harry was a horcrux? He had once told Harry that he knew about his childhood, about how the Dursleys had mistreated him. How long had he known? How much had he planned? It always seemed that Dumbledore had a plan. Hadn't he known that Ron would leave again, and left him the deluminator to find his way back? How much did he know about Harry? As he lay there shaking he felt the trust that he had laid in what he thought was a great man crumble into dust, and sobbed harder.

His thoughts whirling around the events of the last day, Harry lost all track of time and awareness.

Hours later Harry finally calmed down enough to be aware of his surroundings. His chest was heavy with anger and grief, but he felt he could move now. He wiped his face with his hands and looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

He was in what looked like an abandoned room. It was layered thick with dust and grime, with no windows or doors. He had stumbled in there through art of the wall that had been destroyed. Stepping over the rubble he looked around and found that he was on the fourth floor near the north side of the castle.

He wasn't sure what to do. He had destroyed Voldemort, but what was he supposed to do now? He didn't want to go back downstairs. He wasn't sure he could be around people right now. He stood there a moment, before letting his feet take him where they wanted. He would let instinct guide him for now.

Ten minutes later he was surprised to find himself at the Headmaster's office. Climbing the steps past the destroyed stone guardian he wondered just what he expected to find there this time. The office was exactly how he left it earlier that day. The pensieve lay on the desk, still swirling with silver memories. He stared for a moment before reaching out and tipping the pensieve over on the floor, ignoring the objections from the portraits on the walls. He didn't want anyone to see those memories. It was bad enough that he had to watch them. He was sure that it would be like second year all over again if other people found out about the horcrux. Secrets got out, and he wouldn't take the risk of these ones being spread around.

He looked around once more. His instincts were telling him there was something else he had to do here, and if he had learned one thing since coming to Hogwarts it was to listen to his instincts. _There. The bookshelf._

Behind the desk was a bookshelf, half full with old looking books. He rounded to desk to get a better look.

"Just what do you think you are doing boy? Those books aren't for students you little thief!" came a loud angry voice from one of the portraits, overcoming the mumbled complaints the other portraits were giving. Harry glanced up. It was Phineas Nigellus Black. Harry just gave a blank stare before turning back to the read the book titles. What did he care about portraits of men who were long dead right now?

_There. That one. Third shelf, forth book. That's the one you need._

Master of Death: A Theory was the title. Harry sighed. Of course. Hadn't he heard Dumbledore had once been looking for the hallows? It wasn't that surprising then that he had a few books on the subject. He pulled the book off the shelf and looked around again. Nothing else he needed here.

Turning to leave the room, he continued to ignore the rising complaints from the portraits. Didn't they ever give up?

Three months later Harry found himself sitting in the library at Grimmauld Place. He had left Hogwarts, and found himself trying to avoid the Wizarding World as much as possible. It had taken too much away from him for him to feel comfortable there right now. That isn't to say he didn't keep track of recent events. He had asked Kreacher to get the Daily Prophet each morning, and spent breakfast poring over the articles.

It looked like the Wizarding World was putting itself together again. The Death Eaters were mostly dead or in jail, and Shacklebolt was taking his position as temporary Minister seriously. With the majority of the Death Eaters dead at what they were calling the Battle of Hogwarts, it had been easy for him to clear out the ministry and set things right. Muggle-born prisoners were being set free, property was being returned to the rightful owners. It looked as if cleaning things up would take a while though. Too much was damaged, and too many people had been hurt.

The worst articles were the ones about him. It had been a little too much to hope that people would leave him alone now that Voldemort was dead. Leaving the Great Hall the way he had brought attention he didn't want. There was at least one article a day asking where he had gone, bringing up conspiracy theories. Harry was dead, was off rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, and was getting married to three women and one man in a polyamorous wedding in France next week… some of the theories were getting increasingly ridiculous.

Despite the newspaper and despite being asked to help with rebuilding efforts, Harry couldn't bring himself to leave Grimmauld Place for more than a short trip. Forget about going into Diagon Alley. Harry had only become more popular with the defeat of Voldemort using "esoteric magic's most profound". The first time he had left the house, three weeks after the battle, he had been mobbed by what seemed to be the entire population of Diagon Alley. Harry had apparated back home after ten minutes and spent the next two hours having a panic attack, curled up on the floor in the corner of his room. Needless to say, he hadn't tried that again.

_Wrong. This is wrong._

Harry hunched over in irritation and annoyance. He had long learned to trust his inner voice, but that didn't mean he always understood it. For weeks now it had been telling him something was wrong, but he just couldn't quite understand what was wrong. Something was obviously, but he didn't know what. It was making him tense and irritable. He found himself snapping at Hermione and Ron when they came to visit, annoyed at them even when they hadn't done anything wrong.

Harry was getting a lot of practice apologizing to them.

Hermione and Ron were the only ones who knew where Harry was staying. In fact they were the only ones Harry had spoken to since the battle. Everyone else he was avoiding. He had asked Kreacher about the wards when he moved in, worried that people would try to track him down there. Luckily the Blacks had been a paranoid family, and now that Harry was on Kreacher's good side he was able to raise the house's built in wards, keeping most people out of the house. Grimmauld Place had become Harry's sanctuary.

Harry sighed. Much of the last few months had been spent healing, then trying to get Grimmauld Place in better shape. It was livable, but only just. Even the cleaning spree they had done a few years ago had barely scratched the surface. It kept him busy, and gave him excuses to avoid the letters he was inundated with daily.

The most frequent were from Shacklebolt and McGonagall. They were both asking him to help them. Help in the ministry, in the school, with the goblins (who luckily didn't know that it was Harry who had broken in and then stolen a dragon. They thought it had been Death Eaters.), with the press, etc. It was as if they wanted him to turn into a younger Dumbledore, who had the answers and solutions to everything.

He ignored those letters.

He also ignored the letters thanking or scolding him for killing Voldemort. Letters from fans, and family of people injured. Letters of thanks and letters accusing him of taking too long to do the job. A cynical Harry thought people were changing their minds daily. First they were thankful, but given time and they would be angry that he wasn't helping anymore. That he had barred himself up and was ignoring the world. They would soon get insulted, and angry that he was leaving things for them to fix. That was the way things worked. He was hated or loved, opinion swinging faster than Harry could keep track. He had almost stopped caring about it.

In fact he found it hard to care about anything lately.

The other letters he had gotten were from the Weasleys, and other members of the Order. He found it hard to deal with those letters as well. He wasn't sure how to answer. Luckily he had Hermione and Ron to help him out. They were being his guard dogs and shields, keeping people away. He had confided in them about the horcrux. He had told them almost everything.

Almost. He hadn't told them about the resurrection stone, or that he was now the holder of all three deathly hallows. He wasn't sure how to. Instead he let them think that his mother's sacrifice had once again saved him from the killing curse.

Instead of confiding in his friends Harry had buried himself in the book he found in Dumbledore's office. It was mostly theory. Understandable since Harry was the only one who had ever gathered all three hallows, so there was little to go off of. Most of the book he was sure was wrong as well. He definitely wasn't all powerful like the book suggested, and he had the feeling that he wasn't immortal either. He thought he would have to work things out for himself, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know more about the supposed power he had. Several things he had learned already.

One. He couldn't actually bring back the dead. Not that he had tried. He just had this gut feeling that anyone brought back would be like the woman in the story. Miserable and wrong.

_Wrong._

Two. Harry was seeing dead people. Literally. After the battle Harry had thought he was hallucinating. He had thought he saw a ghost of Fred over George's shoulder, and now he knew he had. In fact he was seeing lots of ghosts. Apparently bringing people back from the dead doesn't work well, but it doesn't mean the dead don't stop by for a visit every now and then.

It was rather unpleasant actually. Harry could see why the resurrection stone had driven the original brother mad. He was trying to get over his grief for those who died, but it was rather difficult when Remus and Tonks stopped by to visit Teddy, and every time he saw George he saw Fred standing nearby. Harry didn't think it would be a good idea to talk to the dead (great way to let people think he was crazy), but it was getting difficult not to respond to them.

Still, Harry hadn't felt that close to Remus and Tonks in life. He had barely known them, despite the closeness Remus had with his parents. Fred on the other hand was a different story.

Harry had been closer to the twins than people thought. He had been closer to them than anyone other than Ron and Hermione. Closer than Ginny or Sirius even. Fred and George had been the one constant in his life since he was eleven. It had started off small. They were just his best friend's older brothers at first. He had to admit some fondness from them from the beginning, when they had helped him get his trunk onto the train first year, and despite what he was told about them they hadn't played a prank on him. In fact Fred and George had never played a prank on him.

Then he had joined the Quidditch team first year, and grown closer to them during training sessions and games. That Christmas they had included him in their celebrations. By the end of the year he had quite a crush on the two of them. Not that he had recognized it for what it was.

Second year had only given his crush more fuel. That summer they had rescued him from his relatives. Sure, Ron had been there, but Ron was his best friend. That was almost expected. Fred and George helping hadn't been expected, but they had done it anyway. Later that year, when news of Harry being a Parseltongue broke out they had been two of the people to not think he was Slytherin's Heir. In fact they had ridiculed it, and teased him until he felt better. And when Dobby's bludger had almost killed him? They tried to protect him until he told him to stop and let him handle it. Sure, that was their jobs as beaters, but Harry still felt special.

Third year they had given Harry the map. No more needed to be said about that. It was one of the few things he had of his dad's, and it meant a lot that they had been willing to give it up so that he would be happier.

Forth year they were again two of the few people to support him. They had even offered to help him out with the tasks, but Harry had thanked them and refused. He had finally recognized the crush he had on them thanks to some…_interesting_ dreams, and hadn't wanted to risk them finding out. He wasn't sure how homosexuality was seen in the Wizarding World, and wasn't about to lose the friendships he had over an unrequited crush. Instead he had pretended to have a crush on Cho Chang. Since she had been dating Cedric he was free to 'crush' on her visibly. It meant people wouldn't expect much from him, since they all 'knew' he already had feelings for someone who didn't return them. It worked, and he had giggled about it a few times when he overheard some of the older students waxing over how tragic it was his feelings weren't returned.

He feared for a bit that he had given his true feelings away when he gave them his Triwizard winnings, but apparently not. The twins had gone on to date Angelina and Alicia, and his feeling and remained secret.

Over the next few years his feelings had grown even stronger, but Harry had never acted on them.

Ginny. Dating her was a mistake. Harry knew that. Dating her was the closest he could get to dating the twins, and Harry had taken horrible advantage of it. He felt like a rotten person sometimes with how he had led her on. By the end of the year he had realized how cruel he was being, and broke up with her. He hadn't wanted to hurt her though, which is why he used the war and Dumbledore's death as an excuse.

That was a mistake too. Now that the war was over she was trying to get back together with him. She was probably the person that he was avoiding the most.

Ginny had tried to visit a few times, but Harry had always sent her away. She was being persistent though, and Harry worried that he might have to hurt her after all.

Bang!

Harry jumped; startled out of his thoughts as he heard a door bang. Shit. That had better not be her. He didn't think he could deal with her right now.

He stood, leaving his book on the chair, and walked downstairs.

It wasn't Ginny.

It was George. And Fred, but Harry supposed he wasn't supposed to see him, and played dumb.

George slumped over, sitting on the bottom of the steps, looking miserable. He obviously hadn't washed in days, and might not have slept if the bags under his eyes were anything to go by. His clothes were wrinkled, with stains and dirt all over them. His hair lay limp and greasy on his head, and he clearly hadn't shaved in days by his thick stubble over hollow cheeks. He clearly hadn't gotten enough to eat lately.

Harry stared for a minute, then sat next to him and remained quiet. Even in this shape George was handsome, but Harry might have been biased. George hadn't visited before, but Harry had seen him the few times he had left the house and visited the Burrow. Each time he looked worse than the last. Harry hated seeing him like that, but hadn't known how to help, or even if George would accept help from him.

Fred hovered in front of him, staring concerned at his brother. Fred looked the same as the day he had died, making George's deterioration appear that much worse.

They sat like that for a few minutes, and Harry jerked in surprise when George suddenly spoke, voice hoarse with disuse. "Harry, do you know what soul twins are?" Harry thought, but couldn't think if he had ever heard the term before.

"Can't say that I do," he replied.

George just sighed. "It's hard to test for, and very rare. Have you ever heard about how twins have a special connection?" That was something Harry had heard of.

"You mean like how you could finish each other sentences?"

"Yeah. It varies between sets of twins. Some twins simple know where the other is at all times. Muggle twins have a connection, but magical twins are even closer than that. Soul twins take it to the extreme."

Harry frowned, "We? You and Fred are soul twins?" He winced. He had a hard time using past tense when talking about Fred. Especially when Fred was still there as far as he could see.

George froze for a second as well then said, "Are? Yeah. It's not something that goes away when one of the twins dies. It means we share a soul. We were able to share thoughts. It was like we were the same person in two bodies. And right now half of my soul is dead."

Harry stared at George, eyes occasionally flickering over to Fred. Fred looked worried, and maybe a little panicked at George's words. His mouth moved and he shook his head, but no sounds came out of his mouth. It was disorienting and worrying to Harry, who tried to ignore him and see where George was going with this. "What does that mean for you?"

"A soul isn't supposed to be separated like that. It causes insanity." Harry could understand that. Hadn't Voldemort split his soul? If he hadn't been insane before that had probably driven him there. "I said that it's hard to test for, and it can be expensive. Fred and I were never tested because of the cost, but everyone knew that we were soul twins." His mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. "We caused a bit of an uproar when we dated separately, no one could figure out if we were cheating on one of our dates or not. Anyways the thing is soul twins do not survive well without one another. We never separate for more than a few months. Like I said it causes insanity."

The bitter smile remained on George's face as Harry began to feel tendrils of panic spreading. "George?" Harry's voice shook. "George. What do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't have much longer to live. I have zero appetite, but even if I don't starve to death I'll go crazy enough to kill myself soon."

Now Harry was in full out panic. He had had several panic attacks since the battle, the largest being when he had gone to Diagon Alley, and had woken up after passing out on the floor at least half a dozen times.

_No._

George couldn't mean that. He couldn't lose George too. Harry's hands were shaking, breath coming in gasps that didn't seem to let any air into his lungs. His vision began to go grey around the edges. He recognized this, but couldn't seem to get any control over himself.

Someone was shaking him by the shoulders and yelling at him, and Harry was able to see Fred and George looking at him now, looking just as panicked as Harry felt. He could hear yelling, and saw both George and Fred's mouths moving, but couldn't hear anything over the roaring of his ears. Still, it was Fred and George, so Harry stared and tried to concentrate on what they were saying.

"Harry! Harry! Calm down! Breathe slower ok? Deep breathes. Come on!" Breathe slower, Harry thought. _I can't_. Still, if George wanted him to try he would. His breath caught in his throat and he tried to slow his breathing. "That's it Harry, just like that." Ok, thought Harry, I'm trying.

Slowly the world returned to normal and Harry began paying attention to what was going on. George had him in a half embrace, rubbing his back with one hand and looking pale and shocked. Fred was hovering in front of both of them, pacing back and forth, hands flailing as he ranted silently. That was enough to bring Harry back to earth. "Sorry," he said blankly. "What were we talking about?"

George and Fred stopped what they were doing and stared at him for a moment. "Bloody hell Harry," George said. "What was that?"

"Panic attack," Harry replied, still in that blank voice. "It happens. At least it does lately. So," he tried to change the topic back to George, "So, you're going to die." His voice trembled on that last word.

George still looked worried, but nodded.

"Alright," Harry said, and cleared his throat, "Alright. Why, um. Why are you here? Why are you telling me?" George sighed. He was starting to look depressed again.

"I talked to Hermione and Ron today. Hermione had never known about soul twins, so she didn't know. And if she didn't, then you definitely didn't. You haven't really left here since… Ron, my whole family really, they're in denial. I didn't think they would tell you. I didn't want you to find out when I suddenly wasn't there."

"Denial?" Harry repeated.

"Like I said, never got tested. They are hoping that we aren't soul twins, despite thinking that we were our whole lives. They don't want to lose us both." George began to look a little angry. "I've told them that I haven't got much longer, but they just keep telling me to eat more, or perk up, or that I'll get over it. I won't. I can tell, I'm not supposed to be here anymore."

_I'm not supposed to be here anymore._

Harry, still not over his panic attack a few minutes ago, felt his whole being still with those words.

_Right. That's right. I'm not supposed to be here anymore._

"So that's it," Harry said thickly, thinking furiously. "That's what it was. Resurrection stone. That's what was wrong."

"What?" George asked.

"I'm not supposed to be here either." Harry said slowly, sounding out the idea as he spoke. Fred was looking worried again, and George was shaking his head.

"No. No, wait. What do you mean?"

Harry remained silent for a moment. Should he tell them about the hallows? Fred was dead, he wasn't going to tell anyone. George was dying and wouldn't tell anyone. Yes. He could trust them.

"That thing you said, about souls not supposed to be split, did you know Voldemort did that?" That certainly wasn't what the twins must have been expecting. They looked a little thrown at the supposed change in subject.

"He did? No wonder he was a nutter," George murmured. There was the twins' sense of humor. They had been far more serious today than Harry thought they should be.

"Yeah. Except he did it on purpose." That made the twins recoil a little and look sick. "He put pieces of his soul into objects called horcruxes and hid them. That's how he survived. As long as those survived he wouldn't die."

"Is that what you three were doing all year then? Hunting down those - horcruxes did you call them?" No one had ever accused the twins of being stupid, Harry thought. Just unmotivated.

"Yeah. Not that we knew exactly where they were. Or how to destroy them. Dumbledore left us with a mess of vague clues and no idea how to put them together." Harry's mouth twisted in irritation. "Like it would have been so hard to tell us basilisk poison would have worked, or that the sword of Gryffindor was infused with the poison. But no! That would have been too helpful!" By this time Harry was almost spitting in indignation.

"Um, Ok," George said slowly, and Fred made calming motions with his hands, as if that would pacify Harry.

Harry shook his head, "Sorry. Getting off track. Anyways, one of the horcruxes was in my scar, which was why I was getting visions and headaches."

Now the twins were looking horrified again. "What? Did Dumbledore know? Wait, how did you get rid of that one?"

"Dumbledore knew. And I let Voldemort kill me to kill it." The twins stared silently. "George?" They still stared, stunned. "Huh," Harry said contemplative, "I think you're actually speechless."

That broke them out of their speechlessness. "Wha- you died? Why would you do something so stupid?" George yelled.

That took Harry aback. Stupid?

"Look, I didn't have a lot of time to think of another method! I only found out about it during the battle! I didn't have a lot of time! Voldemort was demanding I go to him, and I figured if I died then the horcrux would go with me. So I gave myself up. It was the coming back to life that surprised me more than anything."

"Yes," George latched onto that. "How did you do that?"

"Like I said! The resurrection stone."

"You mean the one from the story of The Three Brothers? Harry, that's not real. It's just a children's story." The twins were starting to look irritated.

Harry sighed. "I know it's hard to believe, but you know my cloak?"

The twins nodded slowly, "Yeah? And?" Harry gave them a significant look, waiting for them to connect the pieces. "What? You mean that was _the _cloak?" They were looking stunned. "So – so you had two of the items? And that let you come back?"

Harry shook his head, "Nope. I had all three." The twins were poleaxed. "The cloak runs in the family. My ancestor was the third brother. The stone was placed on a ring, which was turned into a horcrux. The only one Dumbledore actually destroyed. He passed it onto me. The wand I won, even if Voldemort had it, it belonged to me."

An hour later Harry and the twins sat, well Fred hovered, in the kitchen. Harry was eating lunch, but George had declined. He had insisted Harry explain, and so Harry had filled him in on each horcrux, Voldemort's childhood, Dumbledore, Snape, and just how Harry had become the Master of Death.

"Your life," George said shaking his head. "Only you," he said fondly with a short laugh.

Harry paused for a moment with his spoon halfway to his mouth. That was probably the first time George had laughed since Fred died.

"So you brought yourself back to life?"

"That's right," Harry replied," but no one is supposed to be brought back to life. Ever since then I've been feeling off. Like something is wrong. It wasn't until you said that you weren't supposed to be here anymore that I put it together. Neither am I."

"And," here George hesitated, "Fred? He's really here? You're sure?"

Harry smiled, and gestured to George's side, where Fred was watching with wide eyes. "He's right there. Hasn't left your side. Gave me a fright in the Great Hall. Thought I was going mad until I started seeing more ghosts, and realized what was going on."

George stared to his left, obviously unable to see Fred, but comforted at the thought that he was there. "So. What are you going to do now?"

Harry thought a bit. "I guess I really should get my affairs in order. I think I'll leave everything to Teddy, Hermione and Ron. Guess I should write a will." He frowned in concentration. Since his discovery a little over an hour ago he had been feeling surer of himself. Less like he was going to panic. He supposed it was because this felt right, and he had always felt better when following his instincts.

George sighed and rubbed his forehead, "That's not what I mean. Are you alright with this? You seem so calm about it. It took me weeks to come to terms with dying soon. You just realized it."

"True," Harry replied, "but I've always been impulsive. This feels right. Like it's what I'm supposed to do. It's when I don't follow my instincts that I get in trouble."

"I suppose," George grumbled. "I don't think it's so easy for me. I just want to be with Fred, but I don't know anything about death. What if Fred and I get separated?"

Harry thought for a bit. Could he…? Yes he felt he could help. "If you want, if we do it at the same time, I think I can make sure you remain together." And that way I can stay with you two also. Harry was feeling alright with his upcoming death. Partly because it felt right, and partly because it meant he wouldn't be left without Fred and George.

"Could you?" George asked hopefully.

"I think so," mused Harry. "I don't really have a lot to go on with this Master of Death stuff, but I think I could probably manage that."

Harry wondered if this is what people who swore a suicide pact felt like. For the last three and a half weeks Harry and the twins had been nearly inseparable, setting up the plans for their upcoming death. Suicide, he supposed. He had never before considered committing suicide, and almost felt guilty about how simply everything was going.

The first order of business had been to set up his will. It was a bit surprising to show up at Gringotts and realize just how wealthy he was. Had he shown up on his seventeenth birthday, like he was supposed to apparently, he would have had an easier time on the run. It turns out his bank vault had been a trust vault, and his other vaults turned him into a millionaire. Harry didn't see any use for the money and land now, but he supposed his friends would at least be set for life.

He had left almost between Teddy, Ron, and Hermione, with a little left to Neville, Ginny and Luna. Nice and simple. He had thought about starting a scholarship, or giving money to fund a welfare group for people who were having a hard time recovering from the war, but in the end decided he just couldn't be bothered. The closer he was getting to the day he was going to die, the less the really cared about others. He supposed it was selfish, but really couldn't bring himself to care.

He couldn't bring himself to forget about his friends though. Harry knew his death would hurt them, maybe even more than they had already been hurt, but there really wasn't a good reason to stay. It wasn't as if he was living a great life anyways. He barely saw his friends, and rarely could leave Grimmauld Place. He didn't want them to feel abandoned, but couldn't bring himself to explain things to his friends. He was sure they would try to stop him.

So he wrote them letters.

A cowardly way out, he knew, but it was the best he felt he could do.

"Kings Cross Harry? Being dead is like being at Kings Cross?" That was Fred. George, being new at the whole death scene, didn't quite feel like talking. He was clinging to Fred, who was gripping his brother just as tightly, but seemed too shocked to actually speak.

Harry smiled. "What's wrong with Kings Cross?" he asked looking around. It looked much the same as last time he had been there. Just without mutant baby monsters and old men.

Fred laughed at that. "Nothing! Nothing! So, where to next?"

Harry shrugged. "Pick a train I guess. There's not exactly a guideline for this you know. And I don't see anyone to tell us where to go."

"True," George said, taking a moment to look away from his brother and look around.

"So I guess we just-"

"-pick a train together?"

That made Harry smile wider. They were talking in twin speak! They must be feeling better. "Sure. You guys choose, I don't really care."

The twins looked at him oddly, making him blink. The next thing he knew they had each slung an arm around his shoulders and were herding him between then towards a train.

"Then we pick-"

"-this lovely train-"

"-over here. Not that-"

"-they actually look any-"

"different from one another."

Harry felt himself start to blush, and was glad the twins were looking at the train, and not at him. Usually he had better control over himself, but he was so relieved to no longer be feeling _wrong_ that he was just letting his feelings bubble over everywhere.

They boarded the train, which started moving almost immediately after they sat down. Looking around Harry could see that the train did look exactly like any other train at Kings Cross. Except that it was empty. Almost eerily so. Not even a piece of trash on the ground, and no hint of other passengers.

Harry smiled and relaxed into the twins hold. They were sitting on either side of him and chatting about what it had felt like when they had been separated.

He was going to be with the twins, and he was going to be with his family. With his mom, and dad, and Sirius, and Remus and all other deceased family and friends. He had been waiting a long time for this.

He was so relaxed that he didn't notice the white spreading around him. Slowly everything around them was turning white. By the time he noticed, it was too late. His vision went white too.


	2. Chapter 1

I am not J.K. Rowling, and don't own anything except my own ideas.

Chapter 1:

The first thing Harry became aware of was darkness. He blinked, and tried to look around, but his head would not turn. From his current position he couldn't see a thing. Just endless darkness. He took stock of himself. His body was curled up, limbs close to his chest just like he used to sleep as a child. There had never been much room in his cupboard, and as he grew older he learned to curl up so as to sleep without his body hitting the walls. There was no pain, which was a relief. Many times curling up had been uncomfortable because of bruises or cuts he had gotten from his cousin, aunt, and uncle.

Still, just because Harry's head wouldn't move didn't mean the rest of him couldn't move at all. He tried reaching out with his right hand, only to meet resistance. It was as if he was pushing against a soft wall; resistance that had a little give to it. Like rubber, Harry found that it would only move a small distance, and would return to its original position once he stopped pushing it. He tried his other arm, and met the same resistance on the left side of his body. Alright. So those directions were blocked off. What about down then? No luck. Pushing out his legs had the same results as his arms. He was well and truly trapped here.

Harry felt frustration and anger well up in him, and began to kick and punch out around him. What kind of joke was this? After everything he had been through this was his reward? To be trapped in the dark? Harry continued to pummel his surroundings. Surely there had to be some way out of this place?

After a short while Harry grew fatigued and his punches and kicks became weaker, and less coordinated. Something was definitely wrong with him. He hadn't felt so weak since he was a young child and was forced to do more chores than could possibly be finished by one person in a day. By the time he would finish his list of chores he would be covered in sweat, muscles aching and panting in harsh breaths…

But he wasn't panting now, Harry realized. In fact, Harry wasn't sure he was breathing at all! Trying to pull in a breath of air was futile. It was as if his surroundings _had_ no air. After pondering this for a time, Harry came to the conclusion that it didn't really matter. After all, he could think clearly, and ghosts, as Moaning Myrtle and Ron had pointed out back in second year, didn't need to breathe.

That didn't explain how weak he was. It didn't explain his strange surroundings.

Most importantly, it didn't explain where Fred and George had gotten off to.

Harry settled down to sulk. This was not how he thought things were going to go. He had looked forward to being reunited with his family, but that hadn't happened. Maybe they had gotten on the wrong train. Was there a wrong train to get on? He should have known they wouldn't all go to the same place, but in his happiness at seeing the twins reunited, and his relief at no longer feeling 'wrong', he hadn't really paid attention at the train station. It would have been just his luck to overlook a sign that showed the train's destination.

As Harry lay there he slowly became aware of the passing of time. It seemed to him that his thoughts were taking a long time to form, as if he was half asleep….

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

He woke again with a start, unsurprised this time at the surrounding darkness. Had he just fallen asleep? Stretching out again, he found himself in the same situation as before; with weak limbs, surrounded by elastic walls and darkness.

This, he decided, required investigation. He didn't believe that this was all there was to death, and he wouldn't – _couldn't – _give up without trying everything he could. Investigation had always worked for him in the past, even if the answers weren't pleasant.

Investigation, Harry soon learned, would be harder than he thought.

Staying awake was a trial in stubbornness and stamina. Not that he had much stamina at the moment. Apparently his limbs weren't the only weak parts of his body, and he was often overcome by fatigue. Harry had found himself falling asleep quite frequently during his search, only to wake up an undetermined time later.

It didn't help that Harry was alone here. The panic attacks he had following the Battle of Hogwarts had usually been set off by crowds of people who had gotten too close for comfort, but he had still been able to see his friends in small doses. Now it was the isolation and inactivity that was getting to him. Several times Harry had almost given in to despair. Had he really given up his life and friends for this? The memories of his friends helped him rally his resolution. No. He had given up his friends because he hadn't seen any other choice. He was dead long before he had killed himself. He would just have to trust that his letters had explained enough to them about the situation. Still, what would they think about him giving up at this point? There had to be something...

The search itself wasn't going well either. His surrounding didn't change. Every time he woke, Harry did the same thing, reaching out arms and legs to check in all directions, before settling down and thinking of something new to try.

He ran out of ideas fast, and nothing he tried resulted in change.

It was somewhere around the third week that something changed. (At least, Harry thought it was the third week. He couldn't accurately measure time while awake, and never knew how long he was asleep for, but if he didn't at least guess how long it had been he thought he might go insane.) He had woken like usual that day, and reached out his arms in a stretch, but quickly noticed something new. It wasn't his immediate surroundings, which remained black and cramped, but a sound. He hadn't heard any sounds since arriving here!

Concentrating heavily, Harry noticed it wasn't just random sounds, but the voice of someone speaking. He couldn't make out the individual words. The speaker was muffled and sounded far in the distance.

This was different! And different, Harry decided, was definitely a relief.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Several 'weeks' later Harry had mentally mapped out all he could about the voices he heard. The most common voice was a woman, he dubbed her Lady, and she spent much of her time singing, or speaking to three other voices.

Lover, as he dubbed one voice, was clearly the woman's husband, or boyfriend. Harry still couldn't make out any individual words, but he definitely knew that tone of voice. It was the same one that Ron and Lavender had spoken to one another in. A sappy, love-struck croon that often set Harry's teeth on edge. On rare occasions Lover would turn more serious, but that sugary tone would always return.

Girl Child and Boy Child were the other common voices Harry would hear. They sounded like typical children Harry was pleased to find out. They had occasional crying and screaming fits, but were more likely to talk normally, or sound happy. It was a nice change from children like Dudley or Malfoy had turned out.

There were other voices that Harry had named Shouter, Squeaky, Boss, Old Man, etc. There were too many voices to name each one individually, and even those he did name were around infrequently.

Harry's imagination was certainly getting its work out these days. Left with little to entertain him and even less to do, Harry had turned to making up stories, often influenced by the people he was hearing. He had a lot of practice. When he had been younger it was one of the few things he could do while locked in his cupboard.

For example, raised, angry voices became a fight between betrayed lovers. Had Lover cheated on Lady? With Lady's twin sister who they had all thought dead due to a freak diving accident off the coast of Taiwan five years ago? Was she here trying to steal an inheritance by seducing the sappy Lover?

Had Harry watched too many soap operas through the cracks of his cupboard as a child?

Probably. His Aunt Petunia had loved them.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Time passed slowly in this manner, and over time Harry couldn't help but notice that he had less and less room to stretch out. There was less room to move in, and the walls had become harder, less giving.

One day, Harry thought, the walls will just shatter and I'll be able to get out of here.

That day came sooner than Harry thought.

It started with the walls.

Walls that had been so firm and unyielding to Harry suddenly contracted, squeezing him unpleasantly, before suddenly relaxing again. Harry froze, shocked.

What had that been? Whatever it was, it wasn't done with Harry just yet. The sensation returned, again and again, infrequent at first, but soon it was coming more and more often. It had become so tight that Harry wanted to scream in pain. He was being herded in one direction, and was given no chance to move there on his own.

Growing more and more upset Harry lost all sense of time under the barrage.

It was rather like being under the Cruciatus Curse, Harry thought in one of the moments of peace. All-encompassing pain that made it hard to think, hard to track reality, and hard to recover from.

After what felt like hours Harry finally felt something give. He was surprised, because he had expected his bones to shatter long before he thought the walls would breach, but breach they had, and after months and months Harry finally found himself somewhere new.

Unlike when Harry had finally heard the voices, and discovered something to entertain him, this change did not please him.

This place was almost the opposite from where he had come from. It had been almost oppressively dark, and sure it had been a tight fit, but at least it had been warm. This place was cold, extremely cold. And bright. Going from months of darkness to blinding light made Harry screw his eyes shut and scream, his voice rising in a wail of agony.

Warm things were grabbing him, pulling him in different directions, making Harry scream even louder. In fact, Harry found he couldn't STOP screaming now that he had started. At the end of each wail he could feel himself gasping in huge lungful's of air (real air!) before he would release it again in a constant cry of unhappiness and frustration.

It took Harry about half an hour of strange sensations and crying before he was able to calm down enough to register what was going on. He was warmer now, and felt cocooned in a soft fabric, which must have been a blanket. And there was a soft voice crooning soft words in his ear.

He knew that voice! That was Lady! But this time he could actually understand the words being spoken to him.

"-Hush darling, it's ok. You're alright. Mommy's here Harry, it's ok. Hush now, hush." Lady's voice trailed off in a hum.

Mommy? It couldn't be, his mother was-

"He's got quite a set of lungs on him doesn't he Lily?" That was Lover's voice!

Wait…Lily? Could it be..?

"Well, it's got to be traumatic, don't you think Prongs? Being born? Look at his red face! He looks so weird! Are you sure you gave birth to a human?"

Harry froze. Could it be? That sounded like… it sounded exactly like Sirius had, voice a little smoother, a little younger, but still the same. And what had he said? Prongs?

Harry slowly opened his eyes, trying to focus on the blurry shapes in front of him and…damn! He couldn't see more than a few blurry shapes in front of him. Where were his glasses?

"Oh shush you two! He looks beautiful!"

"You're biased Lily. Beautiful? For a wrinkly red prune maybe."

"Don't insult my son Padfoot! All baby's look like that! Don't you remember Ethan and Amaryllis as baby's? They looked the same!"

"Well yeah, but they're a lot cuter now that they're older aren't they? Still looked hideous at birth, though."

Harry stared blankly up at the three figures as they argued. Were they..? Could they mean…? BABY?

Feeling shaken and confused, Harry felt like he just could not get a handle what was going on. Just that moment his brain decided that enough was enough. He had a long day. Time to shut off.

Harry passed out, curled up in a blanket, and being held in strong arms against the chest of his mother.


End file.
